


Dark Things

by Inell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Companionable Snark, Detective Stiles, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Med Student Jackson, Romantic Fluff, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: Jackson takes Stiles out for a date night surprise.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hazelNuts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelNuts/gifts).



> fandom-madnessess said: Can you do #56: poetry reading for Stackson? ♥
> 
> I hope you enjoy this! Poetry quoted is by Pablo Neruda.

“If you had me dress up just to have another paintball rematch, you’re going to be sleeping in the wet spot for the next month.” Stiles turns his head and gives Jackson his most serious ‘I mean business’ look.

Jackson is totally unaffected, of course, and merely rolls his eyes as he smoothly changes lanes despite having so little room that Stiles isn’t sure whether to be envious or pissed off at the risk taking. “You and I both know that I’d beat your ass in a _fair_ game.”

“Fair, shmair. You’re a werewolf with supernatural skills, and I’m a mere human who must use every advantage given to me to even the playing the field,” Stiles reminds him, rather pleased that he actually resists the urge to stick his tongue out. He might be a well-respected member of the San Francisco PD and closer to thirty than not, but he can’t help regressing just a little whenever he and Jackson start bickering. He blames years of childhood animosity that turned into high school bullying that eventually became a snarky and spark-filled courtship when they met again at Berkeley nearly a decade ago.

“Mere human, my ass.” Jackson snorts and makes a turn without slowing down. If Stiles really wanted to push some buttons, he’d start quoting every law that Jackson was breaking, but he’s actually curious about this surprise Jackson’s got planned for his turn at their weekly date night, so he’s going to avoid actually starting a real argument that would likely lead to either a passionate quickie at the side of the road or going home to deal with quiet anger until they finally apologize for being assholes.

“And what a mighty fine ass it is,” Stiles says with an exaggerated leer that has Jackson smirking in no time. It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he lightly slugs Jackson on the shoulder. “It’s date night, which means no conceited arrogance.”

“I don’t recall any such rules, Stiles. I think you’re just trying to distract yourself from the fact that I’m so hot that you’d rather be making out than going out.” Jackson is radiating smugness in a way that Stiles should totally resent because it’s more than a little annoying. Fortunately, he knows what Jackson’s really like, the good and the bad, and he’s fully aware that the pompous conceit has always been a mask in the past, a part Jackson played because he never truly felt good enough.

It had taken Stiles a while to tell the difference, to realize what was a mask and what was Jackson actually listening and believing him when he’s whispered all sorts of loving words and praise when they’re lying in bed in the dark able to say so many things they couldn’t verbalize during the harsh light of day. It took them a long time to reach a place where they could say all those things when they weren’t having sex or lying in the dark, but they finally did, and now Jackson’s smug smirks aren’t so infuriating. Still, he can’t let Jackson get the last word, even if he might be right. “You’re probably just trying to distract me because you forgot it was your week to plan date night, so you’re driving around trying to figure out what to do while pretending you’ve got some surprise date planned.”

“If I wanted to distract you, I’d have sucked you off in the shower, and we’d be home right now working on round three,” Jackson says confidently. He glances at Stiles, lips quirking into a small smile that never fails to make Stiles’ heart skip a beat. “I _never_ forget date night, babe. And we’re almost there, so you can quit trying to get me to tell you the surprise ahead of time.”

“Me? Trying to ruin a surprise?” Stiles feigns outrage. “I wouldn’t do that. You know how much I just _love_ surprises.”

“I know.” Jackson turns onto a different street and starts to slow down. Stiles isn’t even sure where they are since he got caught up in trying to get Jackson to ruin the surprise ahead of time so he could prepare. “You love surprising others but hate being surprised yourself.”

“I don’t like not being in control,” Stiles says, tapping his foot as he peers out the window. “You know why since it’s the reason you’re not fond of surprises, either. We’re both members of the Possessed and Forced to Kill People Against Our Will club, after all. In fact, you’re kind of an asshole for insisting this be a surprise even if I do trust you enough to give you control sometimes. Hell, I’d wager that this would deduct like twenty Best Boyfriend Ever points.”

“Still doesn’t equal as many points as you’d lose for insisting on a stop at the reptile house when we went to the zoo three years ago.” Jackson shrugs, which makes Stiles focus on the way his blue shirt is pulled snug against his shoulder and the way his bicep flexes as he moves his arm. “If I remember correctly, you told me at the time that we have to face our fears or else we’ll live in the past and inadvertently give those bad memories control over our future happiness.”

“It really isn’t fair that you can use my own words against me and look so earnestly sexy while doing so.” Stiles makes a face. “That doesn’t excuse you for insisting on surprising me, though.”

“As if I need to be excused,” Jackson mutters as he turns and pulls the car into a parking space. “You make it very difficult to be romantic sometimes.”

“I do not,” Stiles denies immediately. “I let you be romantic whenever you want, so long as it doesn’t involve surprises that I might not like or anything too sappy.”

“I’m never too sappy, asshole.” Jackson actually harrumphs like an old man threatening kids to get off his yard. Stiles can’t help grinning because it’s freaking adorable.

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. No take backs!”

“And you say I’m immature?” Jackson shakes his head. “Pot, kettle.”

“Yeah, well, you’re sappy and immature,” Stiles teases, leaning towards Jackson slightly. “I’m just immature.”

“I’d disagree about the lack of sap in your case.” Jackson arches a brow. “I could even give specific examples, if forced.”

Stiles reaches up to put his fingers over Jackson’s lips. “No examples needed. We aren’t talking about me anyway. We’re talking about you.”

Jackson flicks his tongue out to lick at Stiles’ fingers before leaning in to kiss his palm. “While sitting in the car and making out would be an excellent way for the date to end, we have to actually start it to reach that point. We’re here, so surprise.”

“Oh, right. We’re here.” Stiles huffs a laugh when he realizes he hasn’t even looked around since the car stopped. He’d been too caught up in Jackson, which isn’t actually that unusual.

Despite living together since their junior year at college, they don’t actually get to spend a lot of time together. With Jackson doing his residency in Emergency Medicine at SFGH and Stiles recently promoted to detective in Vice, their hours are crazy and rarely coincide for more than a few hours. Weekly date night is the one tradition they’ve done their best to keep even when life becomes hectic because they know they need time together to just breathe.

“Did I actually make you speechless with this date?” Jackson asks curiously. “You’re being way too quiet for me to determine whether this is a good surprise or a bad mistake.”

“What?” Stiles blinks at him, smiling sheepishly when he sees the nerve twitching in Jackson’s cheek that tends to indicate frustration. “Sorry. I got lost in my head. I haven’t even noticed where we are yet.” He looks out the window and sees that they’re parking by a coffee place with some kind of poetry reading happening. “Seriously? Poetry?”

“What? We both know you’re into poetry and words, so I thought you’d enjoy this more than a round of mini golf or bowling.” Jackson stares at him intently, which makes Stiles think there’s more to it than just that, but he isn’t sure what yet. “I wanted a relaxing date after the week we’ve both had, and I saw this advertised in one of the newspapers at the hospital.”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain. I like it,” Stiles says honestly. “I wasn’t really in the mood to go beat your furry ass at something physical, but I’d have done it if that’s what you wanted. Poetry is definitely a cool surprise, even if I’d have preferred not having a surprise.”

“You’re impossible.” Jackson makes a face and mutters under his breath as he slides out of the car. Stiles is left staring at the empty driver’s seat until his door is opened, and Jackson is pulling him out. “You didn’t even read the sign, did you?”

“What sign?” Stiles looks behind Jackson at the shop and sees the placard advertising poetry night, but there aren’t any signs. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be seeing, Jax.”

Jackson growls softly and takes Stiles’ hand, tugging him across the parking lot towards the coffee shop. “This sign,” he says, pointing at the placard. “Read it, Stiles.”

“I did.” Stiles totally read the part about the poetry reading tonight, but he hadn’t really looked any further because he’d been pleasantly surprised to find out where Jackson was taking him for date night. Now that he’s closer to the sign, he reads the rest, biting his lip as he sees the familiar words written in white chalk. “I’m assuming you requested this?”

“No, they just happened quote some random poem that coincidentally means something significant for our relationship,” Jackson deadpans, lips quirking slightly when Stiles rolls his eyes and lightly smacks his shoulder.

“Asshole,” he mutters before looking back at the sign. This time, he reads the words aloud, using the same soft voice he’d used the first time he’d said them to Jackson when they’d been crowded into his twin bed at Berkeley, naked and sweaty and both no longer in denial that what they had was just casual sex. The first time he’d put words to the feelings that had developed amidst the snarky sarcasm and amazing sex. “’I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul’.”

“’In one kiss, you’ll know all I haven’t said’.” Jackson reaches up to caress Stiles’ cheek, rubbing his thumb along the curve of his jaw. “I’ve been wanting to do this for years now, but I’ve wanted it to be perfect, _needed_ it to be perfect, because you make me feel so many things I never thought I’d feel. But you’ve helped me realize that I don’t need perfection, I just need you. So I’m ready to finally do this because I’m tired of waiting. There’s something I need to ask you, Stiles.”

“Oh fuck. Jackson, you can’t,” Stiles says, reaching up to catch Jackson’s free hand before it can slip inside his suit pocket. “I really hope I’m not wrong here and that there’s actually a ring box in your pocket or else I’m going to look pretty stupid, but you can’t finish that question.”

“You’re not stupid.” Jackson narrows his eyes as his jaw tenses up. He’s starting to withdraw, and Stiles realizes how this must sound because he’s an asshole who speaks without thinking.

“No, don’t do that.” Stiles pulls Jackson closer. “None of that aloof coldness, Jax. I just meant, you can’t ask yet because _I’m_ planning to ask after you finish your residency because you’ve told me how important that is to you, getting that finished without any help from your parents and based on your own merits. And I have it all planned, because, _fine_ , I’m sappy, too, and a hopeless romantic, and Lydia bet me that I’d be too impatient to wait, and you know how smug she gets when she’s right.”

It takes a moment for Jackson to speak, and Stiles is worried he’s really fucked this up because, God, he’s an idiot. He knows how much courage it would take Jackson to do this, and he’s just recklessly fucked it up because of this vision he’s had in his head of how he was going to do it for years. Mentioning Lydia and their bet was probably stupid, too. Finally, Jackson opens his mouth, and Stiles isn’t sure what to expect.

“You’re a dumbass.” Jackson arches a brow when Stiles stares at him. “Lydia bet me that I wouldn’t ask until my residency was over because of my gentlemanly honor and refusal to take a big personal step without having everything else in my life settled. She’s going to win either way.  And I wasn’t actually going to ask right here on the sidewalk, Stiles. That would have been impulsive and common, neither of which are appropriate adjectives to describe myself.” Jackson is totally lying, but Stiles doesn’t call him on it because he’s too busy considering being impulsive, too. “Anyway, I’d rather not dwell on my ex-girlfriend’s apparent interest in my future matrimonial status anymore, alright? We should go enjoy this poetry reading then finish our date with dinner at Marciano’s because we have reservations for nine.”

“You should call and cancel our reservations,” Stiles says, taking a step closer to Jackson. “And I don’t really care about the poetry reading because I’d rather do a private reading. ‘And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms that push back the shadows so that you can rest’ brings back memories of junior year, when we were sharing that one bedroom place with the bad plumbing and the saxophonist living next door.”

“Bernice. Her name’s Bernice, and at least her music drowned out the dripping leak in the kitchen,” Jackson murmurs, watching Stiles cautiously, as if he suspects Stiles is up to something but hasn’t quite figured out what yet.

“She’s playing up in Portland now, you know? We should road trip up to see her. Maybe see if she’s willing to play at our wedding.” Stiles makes sure to keep his voice casual as he sneaks his hand into Jackson’s suit pocket. His fingers enclose around a box that he knows holds a ring that’s probably not too different from the one he’s got stuck in his t-shirt drawer at home. “You should finish asking me your question, Jackson.”

“Are you sure? What about all your plans?” Jackson licks his lips and his hand is shaking just a little when Stiles hands him the box.

“Plans can be changed.” Stiles leans in and brushes his mouth against Jackson’s. “If it helps to know, the answer’s totally going to be yes.”

Jackson huffs a laugh against his mouth before leaning forward to lightly kiss him. “It does help,” he admits, voice so soft it’s barely a whisper. “I honestly didn’t plan to ask here, like this. I thought it’d be after dinner, somewhere romantic and somewhat cliché because you deserve that and more than I’ll ever be able to give you. This feels right, though, by this ridiculous sign with a poetry happening a few feet away and the words you whispered in my ear that changed things written out beside us.”

“As much as I love seeing you on your knees, I’m not going to insist on you doing the cliché thing because I don’t need all that regardless of what you think.” Stiles grins at Jackson as he puts his palm over Jackson’s heart. “Ask me, Jackson.”

“So damn bossy,” Jackson grumbles even as he ducks his head and smiles. Looking back up, his smile fades as he stares intently into Stiles’ eyes in a way that makes him feel like he’s somehow seeing his soul, which is awesome and scary and overwhelming all at the same time. “Marry me, Stiles.”

“Talk about bossy. I didn’t hear a question, asshole,” Stiles says, leaning forward to kiss Jackson thoroughly. When he pulls back, he holds up his hand and wiggles his fingers. “Well, are you giving me the ring or what?”

“I didn’t ask because you already said yes, dumbass,” Jackson says, his smile wide even as a flush spreads over his cheeks when they hear clapping and a few catcalls. Right. They’re in the middle of a busy sidewalk. Good thing nothing supernatural decided to grab them because their awareness of their surroundings are sorely lacking tonight. Stiles forgets about the audience when Jackson actually fumbles with the ring box, almost dropping it before he opens it and shows off a simple silver ring with several runes etched into the band.

“I love it.” Stiles stares at Jackson’s face as he slides the ring onto his finger, waiting until he’s finished before leaning in for another kiss. He keeps it sweet and celebratory, moaning into it when Jackson strokes his hair and tugs him closer. Before they’re in danger of indecency charges, he pulls back and smiles. “We should probably head home now. We can order in Thai from that place you love, and we can celebrate our engagement in many naked ways before skyping Lydia to tell her she’s got a wedding to plan.”

“We can wait to skype her until tomorrow. I don’t want to hear her triumphant smugness at winning the bet.” Jackson reluctantly lets Stiles step away, but he keeps his hands on his hips so he can’t go too far.

“Actually, I was thinking about that. I think she lost,” Stiles tells him. “Because you asked me, so I didn’t lose my bet with her, and you didn’t, either, because she thought you’d wait until residency was over. So, we can call her and tell her she lost her bets, but hopefully she won’t care too much because she’s definitely going to be my best woman and Scott’s totally my head groomsman.”

“Oh, well then, we can definitely call her to gloat.” Jackson leans in for another kiss before stopping halfway. “You are _not_ going to be calling me your bride, Stiles.”

“Dude, that’d be supporting the rigidity of gender roles defined by a heteronormative society. Why the fuck would I ever do that?” Stiles shakes his head. “Babe, you should know me better than that. I wouldn’t do that even to piss you off because it pisses me off to hear people assume I’m the girl because I’m not as muscular as you are or that you’re the girl because you’re so damn pretty, like being the girl is some type of insult anyway. Definitely no bride talk from me.”

“I do know you, but I wanted to make sure your fondness for make-up sex didn’t outweigh your ideals.” Jackson gives him A Look, and Stiles smiles sheepishly because, okay, yeah, he does really love make-up sex because it’s usually pretty explosive and wild because they’re both passionate people who like a bit of rough sometimes.

“Nah. My ideals are more important this time.” Stiles takes Jackson’s hand, leaning in for more kisses. “But, really, you’re more important than all that, so I wouldn’t say something I know would annoy you in a serious way. I _can_ call you my fiancé now, though. Hope you’re ready to hear that a lot.”

 “I’ve been ready for years, dumbass”

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr](http://inell.tumblr.com)


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